


Follow Thy Fair Sun

by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark



Series: We Meet at Dawn and Dusk [2]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Book 6: Tongues of Serpents, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshellhead/pseuds/captainshellhead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibraniumstark/pseuds/vibraniumstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the bar fight, Laurence, Tharkay and Granby take a room at an inn to patch themselves up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow Thy Fair Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Another short and unbeta'd fic, to fill in a very necessary scene.

The room in the inn was a sad sight, the walls a motley and unattractive wood, split with age and poorly built for the weather; it was large enough perhaps for a single man to rest for the night, but certainly not large enough to accommodate three. The innkeeper had been more than happy to pluck the gold from Granby's coat, though, and with very few protestations about the difficulty of removing bloodstains from bed sheets, and so Tharkay could not bring himself to complain. Granby and Laurence both staggered across the threshold, leaning against one another for support, while Tharkay trailed after to draw the door closed behind them.

The inn was not well stocked, nor particularly clean, but it would service; alcohol and bandages, at least, were neither of them in short supply.

Laurence lowered himself down on the very edge of the bed, grimacing and crossing one arm across his ribs. He cast a dubious glance at the sheets. Once he had settled, Granby had clapped him on the arm good-naturedly and made directly for the bath to see how much of the damage might be undone. 

“Lord knows how Iskierka will react,” he said, plucking at a particularly large spot of blood on the sleeve of his aviator’s jacket. “It’s hard to say whether she’ll be more concerned to see me all over dirt or to see the jacket ruined.”

“I’m certain I can imagine exactly how she would react, and Temeraire also,” Laurence said. He sighed tiredly and daubed at his lip with the back of his hand. It was still bleeding, but only sluggishly. The cut on his cheek was somewhat more stubborn, and bled freely though not in any dangerous excess. Tharkay found himself reaching out to press one of the bandages against Laurence’s cheek, encouraging him to tilt his head towards the light with his thumb.

“I suppose that leaves me to play nursemaid,” Tharkay said. 

“You’ve no obligation,” Laurence said. “I can manage well enough.” He tugged somewhat unenthusiastically at his coat, drawing it down the shoulders and then making an awkward attempt to shuffle out of it.

“It is no trouble,” Tharkay said, and drew back the bandage. Fresh blood welled in the cut, but it didn’t seem to be very deep. Laurence took the bandage from him and pressed it back to his cheek. 

There was a pitcher and bowl on the corner table filled near to the brim with lukewarm water, and Tharkay after a short consideration dragged the whole arrangement closer, so that it was easily in reach. 

He drew the cloth over the cuts on Laurence’s cheek with gentle strokes, pressing the pads of his fingers against throat to tilt his chin up. Laurence sighed deeply, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to relax for Tharkay’s benefit. His skin was warm, perhaps a little flushed from the lasting heat of their exertions, and he breathed silently while Tharkay worked his way down from forehead to cheek to neck, until the dried blood had been gently wiped away. 

There were dark circles under Laurence’s eyes, so that they might have been mistaken for bruises had Tharkay not grown to resent them over the course of their voyage to New South Wales. He knew Laurence had not slept well of late, and of no fault to the sub-par lodgings he’d been permitted on the prison ship. Tharkay could not himself relate to Laurence’s love for Britain, only that it had wounded Laurence deeply to betray her. Tharkay did not feel that wound, but to watch Laurence tear himself apart for it was difficult enough.

Sitting now with his eyes closed, Laurence looked almost as though he might fall asleep upright; surely their exertions and the oppressive heat had done his exhausted mind no favors. Tharkay paused, his palm resting flat against the slight stubble of his cheek. 

Laurence slitted one eye open, and Tharkay drew his hand away.

“I can’t promise it will help,” Tharkay said, reaching for the roll of bandages instead, “but we’ve plenty of bandages to wrap your ribs.”

Laurence nodded and unbuttoned the front of his shirt, letting that slide down his arms as well, so that he was bare-chested.

The skin of Laurence’s torso was already sprouting a mottled bruise that stretched from his collarbone nearly down to his hip; he prodded lightly around the edges of where the bruise looked darkest, mindful not to press too hard.

“Cracked, but not broken. Raise your arms above your head, if you can,” Tharkay said. “You may lean on me if you like.”

The bandage rasped quietly against his fingers as he unwound it; behind him, muffled through the closed door of the bath, Tharkay could hear Granby humming an unfamiliar tune. He passed the bandage around Laurence’s torso, steadfastly ignoring the way the muscles of his abdomen twitched in his effort to hold still. Tharkay traced along the edge of the bandage, and if his fingers lingered on the creases and folds they found, Laurence made no protest; when Laurence caught his eye, as he went to tie off the first wrapping, he offered Tharkay a faint smile. 

“Do tell me if it’s too tight,” Tharkay said, winding a second bandage over the first, to give the wrappings more stability.

Laurence inhaled as deeply as he could, winced slightly, and then shook his head. “It’s as good as I can expect,” he said. Tharkay nodded and wound the bandage around for one final pass, so that both sides might be even. 

Laurence caught his hand as he tucked the last edge of the wrap away, looking thoughtful, and Tharkay hid his brief moment of confusion before Laurence began unwinding Tharkay’s handkerchief from his knuckles.

He tutted, turning Tharkay's hands gently this way and that to examine the abrasions. "Were you aiming for the men, or merely hauling off at the masonry?" he asked.

"The wall may have been easier on the knuckles,” Tharkay said. In truth they had not been much trouble. What advantage their anger had given them had been more than overridden by their drunkenness; they were hardly very agile opponents, if not somewhat difficult to knock down.

Laurence frowned. 

“These should be cleaned,” he decided.

Tharkay smirked, and Laurence after a moment asked, perhaps a little cross to realize he was being teased, "What is it?"

"Surely you see the humor in this," he said, gesturing slightly as Laurence dutifully swabbed at Tharkay's knuckles with the cloth.

Laurence's jaw was splendidly purple by now, his lip still split and swollen. He sat awkwardly bent so as not to put unneeded pressure on his ribs, and yet he still fussed over Tharkay, who had nary a scratch but those bloodied knuckles from knocking a man flat.

He was far too kind for his own good, Tharkay thought, and equally oblivious. It was better not to read too much into his compassion, nor raise his hopes too high. He sighed, and flexed his fingers, testing the way the skin pulled tight and stung, before extracting his hand from Laurence’s grip.

Laurence just frowned at him, slightly puzzled.

“Nevermind,” Tharkay said, crossing the room to tap at the bathroom door. Granby poked his head out a moment later, looking a world better than he had when he’d gone inside, save for the patches of blood still in his ruined coat. “Any longer here, and we might expect the roof to be lifted away over our heads.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt they would,” Granby agreed in an undertone, and then, straightening his jacket as best he could, added, “You look better, at least. Laurence?” He waved a hand in front of Laurence to catch his attention, snapping him out of his contemplation of Tharkay’s face. 

Laurence straightened, and immediately regretted the action with a wince and a breathy exhale. The second attempt was much more careful, and Tharkay had to offer his arm for a moment before he could painstakingly rise to his feet. 

“We should hurry back,” Laurence said, and once his knees had finally agreed with him, Tharkay nodded mutely and let him go, and then after a moment’s pause followed him out into the oppressive evening heat.


End file.
